Pucked Off (Pucked 5)

CHAPTER 22HOW MUCH REALITY

IS TOO MUCH?

POPPY

My phone wakes me, not because the alarm is going off, but because it’s ringing. I don’t get to it before it stops. I have enough time to note a million and one alerts lighting up my screen before it rings again.

It’s Lance.

My stomach flips. He’s coming home today. He’s sleeping over tonight. Well, he’s staying over; based on the messages we’ve exchanged the past few days, I don’t think much sleeping will be involved.

I answer the call. “Hi.” My voice is sleep raspy.

“Fuck. Thank fuck. Hey. Hi. I woke you, didn’t I?”

Something in his tone puts me on edge. I roll onto my back, willing my heart to stop slamming around in my chest. “I have to get up soon anyway. Is everything okay? You sound…agitated.”

Lance clears his throat. “Everything’s, uh, a little fucked up, to be honest.”

The anxiety I’ve been working so hard to curb via extra yoga sessions, cookies and tea with Mr. Goldberg, and nights out with April this week suddenly wraps its fingers around my throat and squeezes the air out of my lungs.

“I need you—” Noise in the background makes it hard to hear him for a few seconds. “—Please, Poppy.”

I open my mouth to speak, but nothing comes out.

“Poppy? You there?”

“Here. Sorry. I missed some of that.”

He exhales in a rush, the sound whooshing into my ear. It matches the blood pumping through my veins. “How much you miss?”

“All I got was that things are fucked up and the I need you part.”

“Look, Poppy, I’m gonna ask you to do something, and it’s gonna make you want to do the opposite.”

“This doesn’t sound good.”

“I know. Just hear me out, please?”

“Okaayyy.” I sit up in bed and pull Lance’s T-shirt over my knees. I’ve been sleeping in it the entire time he’s been gone. It smells like his aftershave and him, and a little like sex.

“So, I need you to avoid all your social media accounts until I’m back in Chicago.”

I can hear his fingers tapping on something. Maybe the phone. “That’s a very specific, suspect request, Lance.”

“I know, I know. And I can explain, but I need to be there with you to do it.”

I try to keep my voice even. “What’s on my social media that I shouldn’t see?”

Another heavy breath, a pained sound, and repetitive thumping follow. Long seconds pass before he speaks again, this time in a whisper. “Someone sent you a picture, and I don’t want you to see it—not without me there so I can explain.”

“Is this a joke? Like last time when you showed up at my work all freaked out? Because if it is, it’s not a very good one.”

“I wish it was a joke, but it’s not.”

The lump in my throat makes it hard to swallow. “This sounds really bad, Lance.”

“I know it does, and I know not explaining right now is probably making it way fucking worse, but I really need this from you. I’m getting on a plane soon. I’ll be home in a few hours. Can you please, please just give me until I’m with you?”

“Were you with someone else?”

“No, no. Absolutely not, Poppy. I fucking promise. No.”

My heart seems to dislodge from my throat a bit. “Then I don’t understand what’s so dire about this situation that I need to avoid all my social media.”

“You remember the dick on Miller’s forehead, and how nothing really happened but it looked like something happened?”

My heart is right back up in my throat again. “Yes.”

“It’s kinda like that.”

“I see.”

“So I’d really appreciate it if you could wait for me. So I can explain before you decide you never want to see me again, ’cause I don’t wanna be that guy who sits outside your house waiting until you come home so I can talk to you.”

“You’re making it seem bad again.”

“Shit. Sorry. I’m not trying to. I just need a chance to explain before you make any kind of decision.”

He makes it sound so final, like whatever I’m going to see will end this. Us.

“You do realize how much more this makes me want to look, right?”

“I get that, but I’m banking on you being the good, rule-abiding girl you usually are and waiting for me. Will you do that? Wait for me?”

I think about the conversation we had before he left and how so many people in his life seem to have abandoned him when he needed them most.

“I’ll wait for you.”

“Promise?”

I sigh. “Promise.”

“Thank you, precious. I gotta get on the plane. I’ll see you soon.”

And then he’s gone, and I’m left staring at my phone, wondering exactly what could’ve happened to make him react like that. I can look right now and find out. But Lance is right about me—I’m a rule follower. I made a promise, and I won’t break it.